


The Price of Information

by Oatsotas



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 00:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12642507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oatsotas/pseuds/Oatsotas
Summary: Rantaro will go to the ends of the Earth to find his sister. Not all of these places are what one could consider "safe." But sometimes, it's not the weather or beasts that one must be wary of, but the people you encounter along the way.





	The Price of Information

Deep in the Sundarbans, Rantaro rocks in a rickety chair nestled by a fire. The sound of rain echoes against the wood exterior of the shack. His hands are wrapped around a tin of bland coffee. He rubs the back of his calf against the chair; the blanket draped over him is itchy. Nevertheless, there's a certain calmness to the situation.

He blows on the coffee and watches the ripples. They start at a central point then move out. Out. Out. Until they hit the rim of the tin and it's like they never existed. A fitting metaphor for his sisters, he would say.

He might have traced one. There's a sex trafficking ring somewhere in this part of the jungle and a tip he'd received in Bagerhat said that a girl with oddly natural green hair was seen bearing the mark of the ring. It had to be her. It didn't have to be, but it's something he told himself to keep going. Every tip, every potential clue would lead to her. Finding one person in a world of seven billion, how hard could it be?

His coffee sours. For once, he doesn't want it to be her. A secret hope of his had always been that she was found by a kind family, lost and confused, so they took her in and raised her happy and healthy. He'd reunite with her and have another family, one that was so wonderful to her. It happened in movies all the time. Especially to superheroes. His sister's a superhero. She'd have to be since she's alive. She is alive.

Staring at his reflection in the coffee, he moves to pour it out but a cold breeze through the window screen reminds him that while it might be gross, the coffee's still warm in his hands.

There's a knock at the door. It rattles the whole shack. Tin cooking equipment shakes precariously and the bucket of tepid water threatens to fall off the bench it's resting on. Rantaro says nothing. He sets the coffee down on the dirt floor and reaches his hand into his pocket. He palms a switchblade then rests his arm on the chair's arm. He's still.

Another knock. The sound of the door opening and heavy thudding that matches Rantaro's heartbeat. A small gasp. It's not Rantaro's. "Oh my, sorry for intruding on you!" says a deep, baritone voice.

Rantaro turns in the chair. A huge man stands in the doorway, nearly encompassing it. He's dressed in practical hiking clothes, lots of pockets, thick pants, tough boots and carries a backpack appropriately stuffed. Beady eyes poke out from a heavyset face. Waterlogged and swollen. Rantaro smiles. "Sorry about that, I didn't hear you knock. I must've dozed off."

The man chuckles lightly. "With this rain?"

Rantaro returns the laugh and shrugs one shoulder, keeping his knife hand pinned to the chair. "What can I say? Come on in, it's raining like crazy outside."

"Don't have to tell me twice," the man says. He shuts the door and Rantaro turns to the fire. His grip on the knife doesn't let up. He listens as the man shuffles out of his wet clothes. Hopefully not _all_ of them. "Any towels or blankets here?"

 "There's a cabinet over the camp stove. In there," Rantaro says. He can't place the man's accent. Australian? British? He's always mixed up those two.

A few more minutes of shuffling. The man picks up a tin from the shelf and scoops some water from the bucket. He gulps it down in one swig then dunks it back in. This time he removes the bucket from the stool and picks it up, sets it down next to Rantaro, in front of the fire. His hair red hair is splayed in every direction, matching his scraggly beard that's so full it hides his lips. The towel is draped over his shoulders.

"Thank God for these bunkers, huh, kid?" the man says.

Rantaro smiles again. "They're a help, that's for sure. Better than making camp on days like this."

The man regards Rantaro for a moment before asking, "What's your name?"

"Eito Tanaka," Rantaro says with just enough hesitation to make it believable. Too much or too quick and you will always sound like you're lying.

"You're Asian then?"

"Japanese." No point lying about that; most travellers are worldly enough to figure out the difference.

The man nods. "From England, myself." Ah, so that's his accent.

"And your name?" Rantaro says. He slides his arm off the chair and into his lap, taking care not reveal the knife.

"Gregor Donovan." Hmm, it sounds genuine.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Donovan," Rantaro says.

Gregor scoffs and smiles - Rantaro thinks he does, at least, hard to tell with the beard. "Bollocks to that, just call me Gregor. No need for formalities in a jungle, eh?"

Rantaro laughs and runs his free hand through his hair. "I suppose you're right."

"Interesting hair you got there," Gregor says. He scoots closer to the fire and Rantaro grips his knife tighter.

"I get that a lot. And before you ask, it's natural. Comes from my dad."

Grunting, Gregor takes a sip from his tin. Rantaro relaxes his posture. His back is getting sore from being so rigid. He eyes Gregor's hands. They're not as armed as his but that doesn't mean that there isn't a gun clipped to his belt, hidden by the baggy hiking shirt. And Gregor's big, barrel chested almost. If he makes a move and Rantaro isn't quick with the knife, there's no way he'll win. He hopes it won't come to that. It rarely does, but it's the time you're not prepared that it will.

"By the way," Gregor says. "What's a kid like you doing out here?"

"Adventuring," Rantaro answers cryptically, his smile falling.

Gregor raises a heavy eyebrow at him. "That's vague."

"You look experienced. You know the rules."

"Indeed I do, boy."

"Tanaka."

"Didn't ask."

The two stare at each other for a long while. The air smells of _sandari_ leaves and sweat. The bugs outside buzz regardless of the rain, white noise tries to fill space but is pushed out by the tension that threatens to crush the entire shack.

Gregor makes the move. "I get it," he says. "Information for information. My fault for asking a stupid question." He coughs into his shirt sleeve. "I'm just a normal adventurer. Like to go to different places and just explore. Keeps me younger than I really am. Getting harder with this knee, though." As if for emphasis, he pats his left knee. "Your turn."

Rantaro sighs. "I'm look for my sister. She's lost."

"In this place? She's a goner."

The knife in Rantaro's arm twitches at the comment, but he keeps his expression collected. "I think if I can survive, so can she."

"That right?" Gregor says, raising an eyebrow. "And just how have you managed to survive? You don't much look like an explorer.

Fair point. A long blue shirt and almost skin-tight pants were not the usual tools of the adventuring trade. "It's simple," Rantaro replies, "I just have a natural talent for it."

Gregor's eyes widen and Rantaro silently curses. The word "talent" was synonymous with Hope's Peak, even in the most remote of jungles. He curls his fingers around the knife. Information is valuable out here. And if you give too much to the wrong person, you can easily wind up dead. He might have just given too much.

"You from that Hope's Peak place?" Gregor asks. Shit.

"That sounds like a question with a price."

Gregor smirks. "Don't matter, got my answer." Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. As he leans closer to the fire, Gregor doesn't break eye contact with Rantaro. "I take it they sent you out here to study your talent, am I right?"

A break. Rantaro chuckles. "Okay, you got me."

"HaHA!" Gregor roars, sitting upright and slapping his left knee. Rather hard for an weak knee, Rantaro notes. "I gotcha, boy. Can't fool ol' Gregor."  
Feigning sheepishness, Rantaro says. "Maybe not, but you know how it is out here. Never know who you can trust."

"Oh, that's the truth alright."

The two fall back into silence. The rain has slowed down considerably. There's a fine mist around the shack that peeks in through the windows. Great, the humidity will be back soon. Rantaro sheds the blanket, carefully pocketing his knife as he does so. While he would really rather keep it, he can't help but think that Gregor's too suspicious of him. Once an opponent knows you have a weapon, it's as good as useless.

"I think you have the right idea, boy," Gregor says, standing and stretching his arms above his head. The shiny silver veneer of a holstered gun glints in the dying firelight. .38 Lightning Colt. Maki taught him. Not enough to do any real damage to a bigger animal, but when adventuring, humans aren't "bigger animals." It's well polished, meant to be seen. But only when Gregor wants it.

The older man sets his arm down and fixes Rantaro with a satisfied look. "Where ya heading, boy? Figure we can help each other out."

"Heading west. Towards the Arpangasia," Rantaro says, deciding that Gregor has all the leverage in this situation. No point in pressuring him for information.

Gregor grunts and responds, "I just came from there."

"Anything I should watch out for?"

"That depends, anything I should know going east?"

Rantaro bites his lip. It's out of frustration but he tries to pass it off as simply being pensive. "There was a small creek about an hour's walk. Huge pile of mugger crocodiles decided to sleep there. Almost stepped right into the thick of them, myself"

Gregor appears satisfied. He tugs on his jacket and plops his hat on his head, tucking his hair underneath it. "Thanks, boy. I thought I saw some shady looking folks hanging around the shore. So," He turns and faces Rantaro directly. "Be careful."

Gregor scratches his leg, pulling his pant leg up. On his ankle there's a tattoo of an angelic dragon devouring an orchid. Gregor drops the pant leg down and nods to Rantaro. "Perhaps I will see you around, Tanaka."

With that, he leaves the shack. Rantaro leans back in the chair and listens to Gregor's monstrous footsteps. When they finally are consumed by the sounds of the forests, Rantaro pulls out a very special cell phone made for him by Miu. It gets signal anywhere in the world. Though she originally only wanted him to watch porn wherever he was on, he convinced her to add a calling function.

He punches in a few numbers. Three rings is all it takes. "Hey, Saihara, sorry to wake you, but I need a favor, a big one."

"..."

"I know, I'm sorry. But I need you to look up a man by the name of Gregor Donovan."

"..."

"Yeah, I'll send a picture." Another convenient use of the phone, taking pictures quick, quiet, and clear.

A few more parting words to Shuichi and Rantaro turns off the phone. He takes his knife out of his pocket, flipping it open. Harsh steel springs to life, as if thirsting for blood. Rantaro runs his finger over the blade. There's an engraving on it. "To keep the best big brother ever safe!" A gift from his sisters when Rantaro first got into travelling.

He stands up and grabs a compass, map, and marker out of his pack. He lays the map on the floor and traces his path through the forest. The shore, huh. He draws a big circle around the entire Arpangasia River. "Lots of ground to cover…" he murmurs to himself.

About an hour later, one filled with musing, planning, and strategizing, his phone buzzes. It's a file. He opens it and Gregor's face fills his screen. Rantaro scrolls down and skims the article, knowing exactly what he needs.

Local authorities… searching for major trafficking ring… leader is foreign… known by many aliases… known aliases: Gregor Donovan… south Arpangasia, near Kalir Char…

Grinning to himself, Rantaro stabs his map with the knife. "Found you," he says. He grabs his knife and begins packing up.

"I'm coming, sis. Don't you worry. And even if you're not there, I'm taking whatever this is down." He sheathes his knife and steps out into the wilds. Towards Gregor, towards danger, towards his sister. But he's not worried. He'll be fine.

After all, he can't reunite his family if he's dead.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My biggest V3 complaint is that Rantaro didn't get enough screentime. He's so cool. So here's a fic of him being cool.


End file.
